


Setting Fire to Our Insides For Fun

by ChocolateChipMaster



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Gore, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Impaled palm, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Prompt: Cold-blooded torture, Protective Coran (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Space Uncle Coran (Voltron), This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Vomiting, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 22:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16564124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateChipMaster/pseuds/ChocolateChipMaster
Summary: All Coran really wanted was some special material from an animal on a planet he hadn't been to in over ten thousand years. He didn't realize that he'd end up watching one of the Paladin's in gut-wrenching agony - and it was all his fault.





	Setting Fire to Our Insides For Fun

**Author's Note:**

> For the 'cold-blooded torture' square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card. 
> 
> Anon requested: Cold-blooded torture for Keith with Shiro or coran (or both?) being forced to watch?
> 
> That is horrifying and I love it. Hang in there, this gets rough. 
> 
> Also, yes, the title was taken from a song
> 
> This isn't beta-read, so all mistakes are on me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

****It was not often Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe took it upon himself to complete missions. That was usually left to the Paladins; they did the menial work while Coran kept his grandfather’s Castleship in peak working condition. This, however, was a different situation. Something Coran was _needed_ in order to handle properly.

Weeks ago, Coran had run out of Belmauv saliva and had been making do with regular water to clean the Castle’s complicated pipeline. However, he knew that before long, the water wouldn’t be sufficient enough to keep the pipes in working order. Only Belmauv saliva would do. Not only was it an excellent cleaning agent, but it also was one of the best adhesives in the known universe. If there was anything that would keep together a ten-thousand-six-hundred-year-old pipe system, it would be Belmauv saliva.

It also didn’t help that getting the saliva was a delicate process. Which was why Coran would prefer to take a team of consisting Pidge and Lance - Pidge for her knack of understanding careful procedures and Lance for his stellar eye - with him down to enact the painfully meticulous process of extracting the saliva. Unfortunately for him, though, Pidge had worked herself to exhaustion and Lance had landed himself a week in the cryopod after saving a child from an exploding building. Hunk was in the same state and would be out of his pod by the time Coran got back.

That left Coran with three options: Allura, Keith, and Shiro.

There was no way Coran would take Allura on such a mission. She could get hurt due to some unforeseen factors on unfamiliar soil. Besides, Shiro and Keith worked well together. They were incredible fighters who had each other’s backs regardless of the situation. They would do just fine.

The trio took one of the pods down to the planet, despite both Shiro and Keith wanting to take one of the Lions. But, as Coran told them, the inhabitants of the planet were tribal and not as advanced as the rest of the universe when it came to technology. Hell, they'd just discovered the existence of metal. An enormous sentient robot lion would probably be seen as a declaration of war.

Now, in his full defense, Coran didn’t know much about the planet’s inhabitants. The most information he had on hand was from the Castle’s database and that was very much outdated. By ten thousand years, in fact. So he was going into this mission just as blind as Shiro and Keith.

And really, how was Coran supposed to know that the Belmauv had become the sacred animal for the people there?

After reassuring Allura that they would be naught but a varga, they touched down in a grassy clearing, vines twisting their way around huge trees. Coran could see the alien settlement from where they landed, so he thought they were in a pretty good position to kindly ask where a Balmauv was, get what they came here for, and get out.

Or so he thought.

Apparently, it wasn’t as easy as waltzing in, asking for a Balmauv, and doing the conga (whatever _that_ was) back to their ship.

Coran learned that very, _very_ quickly.

As soon as they walked into the village, everyone started to regard them with a certain level of distaste, pulling their children inside their little huts. A temple made of metal and built in a rectangular shape towered over the small settlement, casting an enormous shadow in the dying rays of the sun.

When they were approached by presumably the chief of the tribe, Coran put on his award-winning smile and stepped forward.

“My most humble greetings,” he said, bowing low. Keith and Shiro exchanged glances before doing the same behind him. “I am Coran of Planet Altea and these two are Paladins of Voltron from Earth. I’ve come for a little resource you may be familiar with.”

“Speak,” the chief spoke, his voice low and harmonious. His very presence commanded respect. He was tall and large, and he wore his gray skin like there wasn’t enough of it. His cheeks were sallow and sunken, arms and chest covered with intricate tattoos. He wore a coat made of furs around his shoulders and a staff with a set of (were those _teeth?_ ) trinkets falling over the top of it. He was remarkably human; if humans were born with an additional eye on their forehead.

“I require some Belmauv saliva for my vessel,” Coran said. “It would aid us immensely in our coming battles.”

The Chief’s face contorted, the marked skin on his face stretching and pulling grotesquely. Keith only barely hid his disgust behind Coran.

“You require a gift from the gods?” He snarled.

“Erm…” Coran sorely wished he had read up on this planet before they had descended to the surface. “Yes?”

The Chief motioned to two of his guards (they were somehow even _bigger_ than the Chief) and glared the trio down.

“Arrest them,” he boomed. “For they want to steal our gift from the gods.”

Coran opened his mouth almost instantly, completely baffled. He wasn’t sure what to say, even though a thousand words had crammed themselves into his throat. A rebuttal? A desperate ‘no, you’ve got this all wrong’? Perhaps even an order for Keith and Shiro to retreat to the ship.

Instead, he let out an undignified squeak as the guards descended and began to wrap him in chains. Keith tensed, hand poised to summon his bayard but Shiro stopped him, too wary of provoking an attack from everyone in the village. After all, Coran hadn’t given the word to defend themselves, so the situation must be under control, right?

And because Coran did not say anything to protest, Keith and Shiro did not fight back when they, too, were shackled.

Coran turned, an apology on his lips, and everything went dark.

 

Coran carefully peeled his tired eyelids open.

His cheek was pressed to something remarkably wooden, what felt like a thousand splinters digging into his skin. His hands and feet were both tied tightly and he felt disoriented, like he’d just chugged an entire bottle of fermented nunvill. It was not a pleasant feeling.

He realized then that the wooden floor he was in was _vibrating._ It was literally throbbing under his cheek with the force of the roars that echoed somewhere nearby.

Instantly alert, Coran’s head shot up. His hair was terribly disheveled, his mustache sticking up in strange directions, but that was the least of his worries. He turned his head to the left to see Shiro, tied up similarly and groaning quietly into the wood. He was just returning to consciousness. And Keith-

Keith was nowhere to be seen.

Coran swiveled his head around, hoisting himself up onto his elbows, to look for the Red Paladin as Shiro blinked awake. They appeared to be in some kind of wooden room, red velvet (or at least Coran  _hoped_ they were velvet) curtains hung from enormous rafters above them. Coran turned his head almost entirely around to see behind him and felt his stomach twist into knots.

Behind them was an enormous stage, the curtains parted down the middle. Hundreds - maybe thousands - of spectators sat in chairs, cheering wildly; like this was the best thing they’d seen in years.

And there, center stage, chained to a wooden pole, was Keith.

He was stripped down to nothing but his flight suit, his bare back exposed for all to see. He was forced into a kneeling position, his wrists in manacles with chains hanging from a hook embedded in the top of the pole.

Coran managed to drag himself so he could better face the horror. Maybe even drag himself toward it, save Keith if he had the strength. But he simply wasn't in the right position with his hands pressing against his back and his legs practically useless.

Shiro groaned. “Keith, Coran...what’s…” His head shot up a moment later, panic in his eyes. He saw Coran and his expression softened a bit. “Keith-” he tried to say, but cut himself off when he took in the scene before him. His voice rose a full octave in fear. “ _Keith!”_

Keith stirred at the mention of his name, a black head of hair rising for a moment, then falling back down to rest against his chest. The motion only seemed to excite the crowd more. There was a hum of Galra machinery and Shiro’s arm began to glow that telltale purple, but the right side of his manacles buzzed and then the glow went silent.

Shiro’s eyes widened. Coran’s throat went dry.

Shiro’s arm - their only weapon they’d been left with - had been disabled.

Then, from the other side of the stage, someone else entered. Three eyes, gray skin pulled taught against him, almost every inch of flesh covered in strange tattoos...

Coran almost seethed.

The Chief slammed the end of his staff against the wood several times. The thumps caused the crowd to quiet, but Coran could feel the anticipation that emanated from the hundreds of bodies all pressed together eagerly. He had a horrible inkling of what was about to happen next.

“My people,” the Chief boomed. “I present to you a foreigner from a different planet. One that has attempted to steal our gift from the gods themselves! Our Belmauvs!”

There was an ear-shattering chorus of boos.

“Now, under normal circumstances, we would have enacted the ritual upon the strange man who asked us for such a thing in the first place,” the Chief continued over the roars. “But this...this one is special! We’ve discovered that something lies in his veins far more sinister than we could ever imagine.” He paused for dramatic effect. Coran’s throat tightened. “This foreigner is _Galra!”_

The reaction was immediate. The aliens rose to their feet, screaming and purple in the face. They were no longer peaceful tribesmen, they were an _angry mob._

Coran dragged himself another inch forward. Shiro let out an infuriated growl from somewhere beside him.

“Therefore this _Galran half breed_ will take the sins of the many...for himself!” The Chief shook his staff. The trinkets atop clacked together. Keith flinched.

“ _Keith!”_ Shiro screamed again, his voice breaking.

The Chief stepped aside. A new alien, with a black mask obscuring their face, approached Keith. A whip was in his hand.

Coran swallowed hard.

“Be sure to _count,_ half-breed,” the masked alien snarled. He reared his arm back, cracked the whip once for dramatic effect. Keith leaned in towards the pole. If Coran could see his face, he imagined Keith’s eyes tightly squeezed shut in anticipation.

The whip came down. It didn’t split apart Keith’s skin. Not at first. It just left an angry welt - red and an ugly on Keith’s previously unmarked back. Shiro let out a pained cry next to Coran, wriggling helplessly in his bonds.

Coran could only in horror as the whip came down time and time again.

To Keith’s credit, he did not scream. He did not cry. Not even when the whip came down again and welted skin turned into cracks, blood slithering from in between the ripped and burned skin. He flinched forward every single time, but he didn’t scream.

The alien, however, didn’t stop. Not even after Keith’s back was nothing more than a bloody mess, digging the wounds deeper and deeper, inch by agonizing inch. Shiro was now wriggling forward like a worm, kicking desperately to try and shake his bonds loose. He did not succeed.

Coran felt sick. Surely they’d been gone longer than a varga, like he’d promised Allura. She and the rest of the Paladins would come soon enough to stop the horror currently taking place before them.

They _had_ to.

For Keith's sake.

The masked alien snorted, clearly disinterested with Keith’s lack of response. He flung aside his bloodied whip with a thunk upon the wood. Keith gripped the chains in between his hands and held them so tightly his knuckles turned white. Shiro chanted Keith’s name under his breath, pulling himself forward inch by inch, his teeth gritted.

The alien came forward, a bucket of _something_ in hand. He stood over Keith, black mask obscuring his expression, and tilted it downward. Coran had time to smell something exceptionally _sour_ when before it was dumped over Keith’s back.

This time, Keith released a horrible, gut-wrenching _scream._

He threw his head forward - into the pole - as the crowd roared in excitement. His screams shuddered, breathless and uneven as _another_ bucket was poured onto the wounds. Coran had no idea what it was, but he knew that pouring anything sour-smelling over fresh cuts was like rubbing salt into them. It had to have  _hurt like hell._

Keith slumped forward, liquid dripping off of his hair as he knelt there, shivering violently. Shiro let out an enraged roar that was lost in the cheers.

The alien took a step towards Keith, something gripped in his hand. It took Coran only a moment to realize what it was.

It was Keith’s _knife._ The luxite blade he never took off his person, not even during missions.

The knife that had been gifted to him by his mother was now being toyed with in the hands of an unfamiliar alien.

Shiro had clearly seen it too. His dark eyes burned with rage and he spat, struggling to get enough leverage to allow him to sit up. “Don’t you _touch him,”_ he snarled like a feral animal. “Don’t you _fucking touch him!”_ This roar was enough to have the masked alien turn to look back at the two of them. Shiro’s rage, Coran’s horror, and their shared fear all drunk in by the alien high off of the euphoria.

Coran imagined the alien gave them a nasty grin from behind his mask. Then, he reared his hand back and sank the blade into the back of Keith’s hand.

The reaction was immediate.

Keith _screamed,_ his voice breaking and going an octave higher as the alien kept applying pressure. He kept going and _going_ until the tip of the Luxite blade was protruding through Keith’s palm.

Coran’s stomach tightened, his throat suddenly feeling full. He threw his head to the side and retched, trembling violently. Shiro watched, mouth open in horror as the alien _kept pushing._ The handle of the blade was now pressing firmly against the back of Keith’s hand, the Marmora symbol smeared in dark red blood. It dripped off of Keith’s wrist and the top of the blade, dotting the wooden stage scarlet.

The crowd loved it.

The alien - with a jerk that made a horrifying squelching noise and sent blood splattering all across the stage - pulled the knife out of Keith’s hand. Keith let out a hoarse cry of pain.

The process repeated then. The alien drove Keith’s own blade through his other hand while Keith writhed and screamed, begging for the alien to _stop, please stop_. This time, however, the masked alien didn’t pull it out. He _left_ it there while Keith sobbed and trembled, his voice lost in all the screaming.

Shiro kept repeating Keith’s name like a mantra under his breath. He’d managed to get his arms in an awkward angle so now his mechanical arm was no longer pressed to the right side of his cuffs. He tried to activate the prosthetic once more.

This time, the arm flared to life.

With a triumphant roar, Shiro cut through the cuff like it was made of butter. He almost burned himself with his own arm as he freed himself as fast as he could. He turned to Coran and did the same, the hot metal cutting away the manacles weighing on Coran’s arms and ankles.

As soon as Coran was on his feet, Shiro charged onto the stage. Coran - the only weapon he had left being his manacles - followed suit.

With an enraged roar, Shiro made a beeline straight for the masked alien. The Chief let out an alarmed noise as Coran appeared from behind him, reeling his arm back and throwing the manacles as hard as he could.

The crowd exploded into chaos. They scrambled over each other to escape, some staying to watch on in a mixture of surprise and horror to see what would happen next. Coran's shot struck true, the heavy metal striking the Chief in between the eyes. Behind him, Shiro was beating - or perhaps killing - the masked alien while Keith lay with his hands cut open and dripping blood _everywhere._

The crowd was now almost completely gone, screams of terror fading off into the distance. Seething with rage, Shiro stepped off of the bloody mess that he’d turned the masked alien into and turned to Keith. He rushed to the younger boy’s side instantly and began to cut away the chains that held him to the pole.

“Oh _Keith,”_ he murmured, deactivating his arm and pulling Keith into his arms. Keith let out a quiet whine of pain into Shiro’s shoulder, his hands trying to find a comfortable position that didn't cause him pain.

They didn’t stop moving.

They wandered continuously, never settling in one place for long. It smeared blood all over Shiro’s armor, but Shiro couldn’t bring himself to _care._ He just held Keith tighter to him and let the boy sob into his shoulder. Behind Keith, Coran wraps both Paladins into his arms, pulling them close to his chest. Keith trembled underneath him, the aftermath of the pain wracking his body in tremors. 

Coran knew they had to get back to the pod, send a message to Allura, and get Keith into a cryopod to heal his wounds. But right now, all he wanted to do was keep both Shiro and Keith in his arms.

Belmauv saliva be damned, all Coran wanted to do was feel the heartbeat of the two boys he'd nearly lost tonight. 

Though he would return home and ensure Keith’s wellbeing. As soon as Keith felt up to it. 

And that’s exactly what he did. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones_  
>  _'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs_  
>  _Setting fire to our insides for fun_
> 
> WOOO HOLY S H I T this was rough to write. Kind of made me sick to my stomach too. I had a few other ways that it could be worse, but I decided not to. I hope this was what you were hoping for, anon, I'm sorry for the long wait! <3
> 
> I absolutely love Coran and he deserves more love, honestly. I'm sad that there's not more stuff out there for our favorite space uncle. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Drop a comment if you did, I'd love to hear what you think! If you'd like to see all of my prompts for Bad Things Happen Bingo, you can find them all [here](https://chocolatechip-master.tumblr.com/tagged/bad-things-happen-bingo)!


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